A Fine Line
by CycloneT
Summary: He’d promised. And he’d lied. [SheppardWeir]


Title: A Fine Line  
Author: Cyclone  
Rating: PG13  
Category: Angst  
Summary: He'd promised. And he'd lied.  
Warning: I know I've already mentioned the angst, but I'd rather not get flamed because people didn't read the headers correctly. This. Is. Angst. There is no happy ending here. 

XxX

Elizabeth sat on her bed, staring at the far wall while ignoring the soft rapping at her door. She couldn't face them. Not now that they all knew. The rapping continued, and she closed her eyes in an effort to shut it out, to shut everything out. "Elizabeth?"

"Not now," she called back. He wouldn't enter her room to press her, she knew that. For the moment, at least, she'd have some much needed solitude to gather her strength and regain her composure. She'd almost managed to keep it together. Almost. But then she'd felt herself begin to waver as her chest constricted painfully and she fought for air. So she'd ran, because she hadn't wanted anyone to see her when she broke.

He'd promised. He'd stood in front of her and grinned that lopsided grin of his, and promised that he would. She'd believed him, because he'd never lied to her before. He'd sometimes fudged the truth, sometimes tried to gloss over details of arrangements that he'd made and didn't think she'd approve of, but when pressed he'd never out and out lied. So she'd had no reason to doubt him when he'd looked her right in the eye and promised.

"Elizabeth –"

"I said _not now_," she screamed. At least, it sounded like a scream in her head. In her head it was primal and full of rage, but in reality it was more like a pitiful, empty sob. At any other time she would have hated that she sounded so weak. But now she didn't care how she sounded or what he thought. She was having enough trouble breathing in a room that smelled like him, smelled like _them_. He'd lain beside her, right on this very bed, and stroked her hair and whispered silly things against her throat and lips, and he'd told her ridiculous stories from his childhood that she knew were embellished in order to coax a smile or laugh from her. He'd promised her, time after time, sealing his vow with serious eyes and kisses.

He'd loved to kiss her. He'd kissed her wherever and whenever he could get away with it, making it a personal challenge to taste as much of her skin as he could in a 24 hour period. It was juvenile and such a _him_ thing to do, but she'd tolerated it because it really was a two person sport, and co-operation was essential. He'd worked out a whole scoring system based on accessibility, danger, and even had bonus points for different combinations. Lips were worth ten points, twenty if he managed to do it around other people without getting caught. Breasts were worth five, and she'd laughed and asked him why they were worth so few points when it was obvious that they were a favourite.

"That's exactly it – because they are a favourite. It's a sure bet that I'm gonna stop by every time I see them," he'd replied, kissing her once, twice, three times, just to prove his point. "That's fifteen points," he'd said with a smugness that would have annoyed her if he hadn't been so orally gifted. "Brings my total to 75. And we haven't even got out of bed yet. It's gonna be a good day today."

He'd worshipped her body and taken her to places that she didn't know existed, and told her that he'd never felt about anyone the way he felt about her. She'd believed that, too, because she could see the truth burning in his eyes whenever he looked at her. She'd wanted to tell him that she felt the same way, but she could never get the words out. She'd stumbled over them, began haltingly and then stopped suddenly, because she knew what giving voice to those words would do to her if he ever decided he didn't mean them anymore. He'd known though, because he'd had an uncanny ability to read her like an open book. He'd kissed her nose (five points), pulled her close and warmed her body with his own and made another promise that he always, always would.

He'd promised, so she'd ignored all of her misgivings and trusted him. He'd been very convincing. Too convincing. She'd been a fool to believe him. But she had, and all her secret hopes and dreams had come crashing down around her when she'd realised that they'd never eventuate, because he'd lied.

"Doctor Weir? It's Teyla. Doctor McKay feels that you should not be alone right now."

"Go away," she sighed wearily. "I don't need a babysitter. I don't need anything."

She could hear their whispered concern through the door, but she didn't care. He'd lied to her, and although before the lie had been exposed she'd loved him more than she'd had any right to, now that love was contaminated by a tiny spur of hatred. If he'd never promised in the first place, if he'd never made her believe him, trust in him, then it wouldn't be killing her now that she knew he'd lied. It was unfair and she knew it, but the hatred was easier to deal with, easier to face than the alternative. She'd hate him now because soon enough all she'd be able to remember was the love, and then she'd be lost. She didn't want to be lost, not yet. Not when she still had so much to do.

Had it really only been three hours? Three hours since his deception had been confirmed? Three hours since she'd faced the fact that promises counted for nothing in this new galaxy? Three hours since he'd been standing in the gate room, at ease and joking, about to usher his team through the gate?

"Major Sheppard," she'd called out, needing to hear his oath, because if he said the words then she'd believe him. "Are you forgetting something?"

It was a ritual they'd had, one that been born in a private moment of shared vulnerability and affirmation on their balcony, one that had been cemented with love in the bedroom.

_"I will always come back to you, Elizabeth. Always."  
"Promise?"  
"Promise."_

He'd turned back around, an apologetic twinkle in his eyes, and lied.

End.


End file.
